A soft melodic sound filled the air as a young filly drew abstract designs in crayon on a sheet of paper. She tilted her head as her ears twitched with the gentle twang. Only she knew their meaning as she continued to sketch swirls and arches on her canvas. She found herself swaying to and fro with the steady rhythm and the line brought to life by the crayon in her mouth seemed to twist and turn with each new note. As the noise continued to ebb and flow, she became more curious as to its origin.
Quietly, she put her crayon down, having to stop it from rolling off her little table by placing a tiny hoof on top of it. She took several pensive steps towards the hall leading from her bedroom to the living room. She stopped briefly to look back and make sure her picture and crayon were not going to fall off her table again before waddling out the door.
She found daddy sitting in his favorite chair with a weird box with a plank coming out of the end, sitting in his lap. She frowned. That was her spot! She did not say anything though, because the weird box seemed to be making the noise.
She decided that she liked the noise.
As she watched him and the box, she realized that the box made the sound anytime he waved his right hoof up or down across its hair. Her nose scrunched at this. Boxes did not have hair; did they? The music stopped and he smiled down at her. She loved his smile; it was her favorite part of him. It felt just like Silist-tia’s sun: only warmer… and better! She could never be sad, or not smile whenever she saw it.
"What’s that?" She pointed at the box. She tried to frown through her smile but ultimately failed, "Why is it in my spot?"
He chuckled as he moved the box aside and beckoned her forward. She giggled as she bounded forward and hopped up into his grasp as he pulled her up onto his lap. He patted her head and placed the box in front of her.
Cautiously, she poked it. She turned around fearfully, only to see that he was still smiling. She knew that he would never let anything bad happen to her, so she turned back and resumed looking at the strange box. She looked at her hoof and then at the box's hair. Each strand called out to her. She was scared, but she had to be brave. She looked at her hoof again then stroked it downward like he had done. Each strand of hair produced a sound that blended with the next.
She giggled as she petted the strands of hair again, and again. He startled her when he took her left hoof in his and placed it around the plank that stuck out the side of the box. He repositioned her so that she was pressing a few of the strands down and had her pet the box again. This time, the sound was different from the first. He repositioned her grip a second time, and again a new sound was produced.
"You’re a natural! You could be a great guitarist, just like your old man," he praised.
"Ga-tar-ost?"
"A guitarist is somepony who plays the guitar." His chuckles added to the sound from the "guitar" and she joined in with her own giggles. "You play different notes together—" he had her play the two "notes" from before, but now added a third "— and you can make music."
"This is used by music-shins?" She looked up into his warm smile with wide eyes.
He nodded, "Yep."
She turned back and strummed the new third note. "Wow."
"Hehe. Pretty nifty, huh?"
"…Daddy?"
"Yes, my little sunshine?"
"Do you think I could get my cutie mark in 'ga-tar-ost'?"
He rested his hoof on his chin and "thought" about that for a moment before responding, "Hmm… I suppose you could," He looked down at her and ruffled her mane, "But, no matter what your cutie mark may be, remember that you can still be a great musician if you really wanted to be."
"In that case," she slowly played each of the three notes, "I want to play in one of those groups on yours and mommy’s music plates."
"Go for it," he smiled. "Just make sure to remember us once your band becomes famous."
"Deal!" she nodded once enthusiastically.
After practicing the three notes some more, she asked, "Why don’t you use your magic to play? Wouldn’t that make it easier?"
"I suppose," he answered thoughtfully. "But, there is just something natural about playing it like this. It allows you to become closer to the instrument almost like… almost like you're becoming one with it."
"You don’t need to use magic because it makes magic." Her response almost sounded like a question.
"I couldn’t have said it any better."
He patiently continued to help guide her hooves as she played the three notes in a varying order. She would let out a squeaking grunt anytime she made a mistake, but he would always guide her hoof back into the proper position.
After some time she asked, "Daddy?"
"Yes, sunshine?"
"Where did you learn to play?" she looked up into his warm smile again.
"Well, my daddy learned from his mommy, who learned from her mommy."
"And you'll teach me now, right?" she pleaded.
"Of course! You're my little sunshine. Plus, who am I to go against family tradition." His smile grew wider as he kissed her head just above the base of her horn. He looked at the clock on the mantel and lifted her up, "I think we better wash up and get dinner ready. Mommy will be home soon."
"Awe… Can we at least play the ga-tar after?"
"Sure we can! I might even be able to teach you a song or two. I think I got one that you just might like."
She hopped down the hall to the washroom, giggling the whole way.
Sunset Shimmer sat with her legs crossed on the balcony outside her loft. She absentmindedly strummed three chords on an old acoustic guitar as she looked out over CHS below her promontory. Warm feelings intermixed with the rays of sunlight that blanketed the clock tower atop the school’s domed roof.
She was broken free from her respite by an incessant ringing. Sighing, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her cellphone.
She was met with an agitated Rainbow Dash, "Practice starts in five minutes with or without you."
Click.
She smiled and could not help but laugh quietly under her breath as she got up and headed back inside. Rainbow always seemed to be late to everything, but for some reason she was always in a rush when it came to band practice.
Gingerly, she placed the old guitar into an open case lying on her mattress. She stroked the length of it before closing and latching the lid. Despite the worn black pebbled case being scuffed and scratched, it could protect her treasured item from almost anything short of an explosion. Even then, she was sure it would still do its job.
She stood the black pebbled case on end and leaned it against her wall beside the head of her mattress. She grabbed the cloth case that held the used electric guitar that Rainbow had given her that she always placed next to it and slung the strap over her shoulder. As she headed out the exit, she grabbed her book bag and gave the old beat-up case by her bed one last look. She could not help it as a small smile formed. The old guitar seemed to know how to brighten her day when things seemed to be at their darkest points just like a warm smile.
She closed the door behind her as she ran off to see her friends.
